


Troublemaker

by situation_normal



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Ben Solo has no chill, Doctor Ben Solo, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Hospitals, Inspired by Onion headline, Minor Car Accident, gentrification, minor Arsehole Hux, pedestrian crossings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 14:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18012281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/situation_normal/pseuds/situation_normal
Summary: The first time it happens, Ben Solo just rolls his eyes at her and waits impatiently for her to cross.It’s a new neighbourhood. Potentially a new neighbour. He needs to keep up an approachable demeanour. It could be one of his patients, for Christ’s sake.The fourteenth morning that this girl crosses the road in front of his car—insistently holding eye contact with him, as if she's daring him to run her down—Ben begins to lose his patience.Read: Ben hits Rey with his car. It's not on purpose, okay!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltmouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltmouse/gifts).



> Thank you [Kate_Reid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Reid/works) for the super fast beta, you are truly the best.
> 
> This fic was inspired by [this twitter conversation](https://twitter.com/situationnorma1/status/1093563735732613120?s=19) between myself and saltmouse, it took me so long to write because I got the flu and then kind of lost the thread of everything I was writing, which is also why this fic is in two chapters even though it's so short.
> 
> Chapter 2 is completed and with my beta, so should be up in a couple of days.

   
The first time it happens, Ben Solo just rolls his eyes at her and waits impatiently for her to cross.  
   
It’s a new neighbourhood. Potentially a new neighbour. He needs to keep up an approachable demeanour. It could be one of his patients, for Christ’s sake.  
   
The fourteenth morning that this girl crosses the road in front of his car—insistently holding eye contact with him, as if she's daring him to run her down—Ben begins to lose his patience.  
   
He grips the heated leather steering wheel and takes a deep breath, remembering to count to ten on the exhale. Ben is not a patient man, but he’s working on it.  
   
She smirks at him when he revs the engine of his brand new custom Ford Silencer, slowing her pace even further and bending down to stroke an annoying ginger cat that has decided to join her on the zebra crossing—effectively making him even later for work.  
   
It irritates him even more when the sight of her perky butt crouching just meters in front of his eyes sends unwelcome signals to his dick. This really is it. The straw that breaks the camel’s back.  
   
Ben isn’t thinking with his logical brain when he thumps his fist against the horn. The action is sudden and unexpected, even to himself. He’s so startled by his own stupidity that his foot slips off the clutch, and the car lurches forward.  
   
The car lurches forward and hits the beautiful, infuriating, perky, cheeky girl right on her beautiful, infuriating, perky, cheeky ass.  
   
The girl shrieks. The cat yowls. And Ben Solo—the brand-spanking-new, trusted, respected, local general practitioner of the sparkling new health centre that recently opened in this up and coming neighbourhood—Ben Solo groans, and lets his forehead fall onto the heated leather steering wheel with a clunk.  
   
It isn’t nearly painful enough.  
   
And then he reminds himself that he’s just hit a human person with his car, and he has a responsibility as a trained medical practitioner to get out of said godforsaken car and face her.  
   
_What was it that Phasma told me about making myself more likeable?_ he thinks as he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door.  
   
_Look your conversation partner in the eye when you’re introducing yourself. Long enough to tell what colour their eyes are, but no longer, or you’ll come across as intimidating._  
   
She’s clutching her butt and cringing when he rushes around to squat down next to her.  
   
“You fucking wanker! What the fucking fuck were you thinking?” She’s angry. Justifiably so.  
   
Ben finds her eyes and holds them. Hazel. Beautiful. Like moss. “I’m sorry. Let me take a look at it.”  
   
For a moment—the moment before he spoke—her eyes had softened, and her lips had parted, and some crazy, primal part of Ben’s brain had told him that he should kiss her.  
   
But something in what he’d said turned her cheeks pink and her eyes angry and her lips into a thin line.  
   
“Great. You’re a fucking pervert, too.”  
   
Wait, what? “I’m a fucking doctor; now let me check if you’re okay. Please.”  
   
She narrows her eyes at him. “A doctor of what?”  
   
“I’m a GP.”  
   
“So you mean you’re _not_ specialised in treating emergency patients who have recently suffered major trauma?”  
   
“Fucking _trauma_. I barely nudged y—”  
   
“And—what was that—you _don’t_ have x-ray vision? You’re a fucking pervert; just admit it,” she says sarcastically.   
  
Ben frowns and grinds his teeth. He isn’t a pervert, but the accusation stings because he is most definitely guilty of finding her attractive. “I am capable of doing a basic physical examination. But if you’re uncomfortable with that, I’ll gladly take you to the nearest hospital.”  
   
“I think you broke my arse bone.”  
   
Ben feels his cheeks heat. “Well, I can certainly—”  
   
“ _Just_ ,” she hisses, silencing him with a wave. “Just take me to the hospital.”  
   
So he does. She yelps quietly when he lifts her into his arms and carries her to his car. She’s not heavy. If he wasn’t so distracted by the smell of her hair, maybe he would be thinking more deeply about her reasons for being underweight.  
   
He calls work on his hands-free on the way to A&E and explains the situation, then takes the day off. And the girl is silent as she watches the blur of streetlamps and newly-planted trees whizzing past the window.  
   
Ben clears his throat when they pull into the hospital car park. “Wait in the car; I’ll go get you a wheelchair.”  
   
“I don’t need a wheelchair,” she says petulantly.  
   
“So, you can walk?” He raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t want me to check you over, first?”  
   
“I’m fine.”  
   
“Does that mean I shouldn’t expect a personal injury claim any time soon?”  
   
She’s got a decent poker face—better than Ben’s, but that isn’t saying much. He’d have to wear a goddamn mask 90% of the time to have any chance of hiding his emotions. As it is, he sees a brief flicker of inspiration cross her face as she goes to push her door open.  
   
Followed by a very theatrical-sounding groan.  
   
She is not a good actress.  
   
“Actually,” she whimpers. Honest to god, _whimpers_. “Maybe a wheelchair is a good idea. Or you could... carry me again?”  
   
He doesn’t miss the way her gaze flicks up and down his arms and chest.  
   
Ben clears his throat and makes a concerted effort to focus on the overcomplicated opening mechanism on his door. “Let’s go for the wheelchair.”  
   
“You just have to press that—”  
   
“I know how to open my own fucking car!!” He does. Theoretically. He has done it plenty of times. “You’re making me flustered on purpose. Stop that.”  
   
He hears her tinkling laughter echoing through the underground car-park as he lurches over to the elevators to grab a wheelchair.  
   
When he gets back to the car she is leaning on her open door staring at him with a grin on her face. “So, you’re flustered?” she asks him casually.  
   
Ben unfolds the chair and gestures pointedly at it with an open hand. “Shall we?”  
   
She smirks. “I’m not sure I can make it.”  
   
“Oh, come on. It’s like three paces from the car.”  
   
She bats her eyelids at him in a way that is clearly meant to be humorous, but it _does_ things to him.  Ben cannot stop himself from crossing those three paces and scooping her into his arms again.  
   
“You’re a very attractive man, Doctor...?”  
   
He ignores the implied question as he places her gently in the wheelchair. He’s not sure if she’s being sarcastic, and he's not interested in being made a fool of. “Thank you for complimenting my flesh prison.”  
   
“Well, I was all ready to compliment your winning personality, but... y'know.”  
   
Ben does know.  
   
She doesn’t seem discouraged by his silence. “Aren’t you going to ask me out or something?”  
   
“I’m not sure how appropriate that would be, considering the situation we're in.”  
   
She snorts a brief laugh as he begins pushing her towards the elevators. “You could at least compliment my flesh prison in return.”  
   
He doesn’t hesitate. “You’re very beautiful.” It’s the truth. “But you’re trouble. And as a doctor, I would advise you to gain some weight.”  
   
She doesn’t have anything to say to that. For once. And the elevator ride up to the A&E department is silent and awkward.  
   
Her name is Rey Jakkson, he discovers when they sign in. It suits her. She’s not registered at his practice—or any practice in the area. He doesn’t ask her why, but he does wonder.  
   
The waiting room walls are plastered with posters from InjuryLawyers4U, and Rey delights in pointing them out to him.  
   
She calls him “Ben,” like they’re old friends.  
   
The doctor on call makes a joke about Ben’s partner, Hux, offering her condolences that they're now in practice together. Apparently they went to med school together.  
   
   
Rey is discharged with light bruising and ibuprofen. She lets him drive her back to the crossing, but not to her home. The day ends.  
   
The following morning, Ben drives to work without interruption.  
   
It sucks.  
   
He doesn’t see her again for a month, but he thinks about her every day. Every time he passes that fucking crossing. On the thirty-first day after The Incident, Ben decides to walk to work.  
   
Five minutes into his half-hour walk, he bumps into Rey.  
   
That five minutes included the time it had taken him to put his jacket on and lock his front door, take the elevator to the ground floor, and walk out of the chrome and glass front doors of his apartment complex.  
   
Because Rey is standing outside the run-down building—a building he knows is scheduled to be demolished—right next to his, picketing with a cardboard sign that reads, “PISS OFF, GENTRY.”  
   
She is not alone; she’s with a small group of people. If Ben weren’t so unreasonably happy to see her, he would've passed them right by rather than interact with a group of unfamiliar faces.  
   
As it is, he stops in his tracks the moment their eyes meet.  
   
She smiles sweetly at him for a second before narrowing her eyes. “Gentrificator," she says by way of greeting, allowing him a curt nod.  
   
Ben can’t hold back the smile that tugs at his lips. “Trouble,” he acknowledges with a quirked eyebrow. He looks up at the sign above her head. “I appreciate the comma.”  
   
“Thank you for noticing.” She’s smiling again now, and Ben feels his heart rate pick up.  
   
“How’s your—”  
   
“Don’t tell me this is the guy you were on about who hit you with his car?” One of her friends. A man. He’s close in age to her by the looks of things, and he’s got a good face. Friendly. Handsome. “Black hair, six foot eighty, built like a refrigerator?”  
   
Rey hits him. It’s playful—not exactly flirty, more like an interaction between siblings—and the guy yelps.  
   
“Finn!” She says it laughingly, like they do this all the time. They probably do. Ben reminds himself that he doesn’t _know_ this girl or her friends.  
   
Finn is grinning at him like he’s in on their joke. “Doctor Swolo, I presume?”  
   
Ben is definitely not in on their joke. “Pardon me?”  
   
“Ignore him,” Rey says privately to Ben. She’s leaning into him. Breathing the words into his ear.  
   
He is still not entirely sure if he’s being fucked with. In fact, he's 87% sure he's already a trending meme on Twitter.  
   
But he decides that he'd rather not find out in this particular moment, when her hand is resting lightly on his arm and the memory of her warm breath in his ear is still sending shivers down his spine.  
   
“I’d better...” He nods in the direction of his walk rather than finishing his sentence.  
   
It’s almost imperceptible, the way she squeezes his arm lightly before letting go. “I guess I’ll see you around.”  
   
He wants to ask her out. He wants to tell her he hopes they will meet again soon. He wants to, but he doesn’t. And all that comes out of his mouth is, “Yeah.”  
   
But he sees Rey everywhere he goes.  
   
He sees her in the slender, dark haired young woman playing on her phone in the waiting room of the health centre when he arrives.  
   
He sees her in the fat ginger cat that crosses the road in front of his car the next morning, taking its sweet time.  
   
He sees the shape of her smile every time he closes his damn eyes.  
   
It is inescapable.  
   
And then when he finally does see her again—the real her—she is nothing like the ethereal, glowing, perfect picture in his head. She is better in every way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually my first time writing in present tense, I thought I'd do it for a challenge, I hope it came out okay!
> 
> Come say hi on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/situationnorma1), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/situationnorma1?s=09), or [tumblr](https://situation-normal.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More silliness. Smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to my epic and amazing beta reader Kate_Reid.

“This really is a dive, Solo,” Hux drawls, running a manicured finger over the sticky tabletop and looking around the dingy pub Ben had suggested as a place to let off steam after work. “Couldn’t you think of a decent club or something? I’m afraid I’m going to catch herpes if I take a shit in the toilets here.”  
   
“It’s shabby chic,” Ben insists. He's never been here before, but it’s not far from his place, and the neighbourhood is trendy. He has no idea what “shabby chic” means.  
   
Hux raises an incredulous eyebrow. “It’s shabby, full stop.”  
   
There’s a crowd at the bar. It’s not a trendy crowd. Ben leaves Hux at the table and squeezes between the throng of rancid-smelling old dudes and kids that barely look old enough to drink so that he can order their first round.  
   
He is more surprised than he maybe should be when Finn's cheerful yet harassed face is the one to greet him from the other side of the bar.  
   
“Swolooooo!” Finn whoops.  
   
Ben is blushing. He knows he is. The realisation only makes it worse. “Finn. Good to see you again.” It’s not _that_ good.  
   
Finn's grin only widens. “Same to you, man! What can I get you? First drink's on the house.”  
   
Ben shakes his head. “No way.” He thinks this place looks like it needs every penny it gets, but he doesn’t say it. “Get me a whiskey, neat, and a—” He looks at the back of his hand where he’s scrawled Hux's drink order with a biro. “—Tanqueray on the rocks with slimline tonic. And...” He squints at the sweat-blurred lettering. “...and a slice of lime, but if you don’t have lime, no lemon.”  
   
“Hot date?” Finn asks, already preparing a tumbler for Ben’s whiskey. There’s weight to the question; he seems genuinely interested.  
   
“No.” He thinks about leaving the conversation there. He doesn’t need to elaborate, but he does. “More like a very cold team-building exercise with my partner. We occasionally pretend to enjoy each other’s company for the sake of appearances.”  
   
“Well, we don’t have any lime—” Finn pours Ben a double. “—and we don’t have any Tanqueray.” He fishes a bottle of Gordon’s from the shelf behind him. “But at least we don’t have any lemon, so there’s that.”  
   
He places the whiskey down in front of Ben and pours a single measure of Gordon’s for Hux. Ben smirks and nods his gratitude.  
   
“We might have some slimline tonic in the cellar. Take your drink, and we’ll bring your friend's over in a minute if we can find any.”  
   
Ben returns to their table with only his own drink. Hux is unamused, and he’s halfway through a rant about how he’d rather give Ben a prostate examination with his bare hands than allow a single drop of Gordon’s gin to pass his lips--when he suddenly stops talking and his eyes move to a spot above Ben’s head.  
   
He knows it’s Rey before he even turns to look.  
   
She is everything and nothing like he remembers. Her eyes are tired but bright; her smile is less amused, more bemused when she places the glass in her hand down in front of Hux.  
   
“Gentlemen.”  
   
Hux preens at the perceived complimentary form of address, but Ben knows it’s an insult and smirks.  
   
“It’s lemonade from the tap,” she adds. “We don’t have any tonic in.”  
   
Hux doesn’t seem to mind. He’s too busy eyeing her up hungrily. “Well, hello,” he says saucily. He’s smiling, which doesn’t suit him. The smarmy bastard.  
   
Rey doesn’t reply, she just turns to Ben and raises her eyebrows. For a moment, they have a silent conversation with their eyes, and he knows that she doesn’t like Hux. Ben knows that she knows that Ben doesn’t, either.  
   
He takes a sip of his drink and she giggles. This time, he feels like he’s in on the joke.  
   
. . . Until the unmistakable sound of a hand slapping her denim-clad backside breaks the spell between them. And Rey's smile drops, and Ben sees red.  
   
And then he is jumping out of his seat—preparing to personally disembowel Armitage Hux right then and there—but Rey is way ahead of him.  
   
The cheap lemonade and Gordon’s gin mixture, ice cubes included, is dripping down Hux’s face and out of his hair where Rey has unceremoniously dumped it.  
   
“Don’t.” It’s all she says, and she’s addressing Ben, pressing a hand against his chest. He realises after a moment that he is _looming_ , and his fists are clenched, and maybe his teeth, too.  
   
Hux looks like he wants to be angry. He’s dripping with the sickly concoction of his drink, but he’s clearly making an effort to act contrite. “I thought we were—”  
   
“And you can shut the fuck up right now.” Rey spins to face him again, her voice is acid. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I recently sustained heavy trauma from a car accident in the very area that you felt yourself entitled to touch right now. Not only am I inclined to call the police immediately; I’m also contemplating contacting my lawyer to make a personal injury claim against you.”  
   
Hux pales. “Please don’t, I’m sorry. I—I wasn’t thinking. I—”  
   
Ben still hasn’t returned to his seat. It is taking every ounce of self-restraint he possesses not to punch Hux in the face and—  
   
“Ben.” It’s Rey.  
   
And that’s all it takes. That one tiny word on her lips. His name. And Ben cannot focus on anything but her.  
   
“My shift is over. Wanna go somewhere?”  
   
He does. So badly. Anywhere but here. The library. A café. His work. His car. His apartment. His bed.  
   
All he says is “yes,” and he doesn’t know why—maybe there’s an animal part of his brain that has taken control in this moment—but he grabs her wrist and he pulls her along with him out of the pub without looking back.  
   
His ears are ringing, and they are halfway down the road, heading for his place, when he notices that she’s speaking to him again.  
   
“Wait—Ben, wait!” She tries to wriggle her arm free; he releases her immediately. “Why are you so upset? We didn’t need to rush out like that; I didn’t even say goodbye to Finn!”  
   
“We—I needed to get out of there. I’m sorry. Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Did—did _I_ hurt you?”  
   
“I’m fine. Just a bit pissed off.”  
   
“If I’d stayed there, I would’ve murdered my own partner, and there were way too many witnesses. I couldn’t leave you there with him because...” He trails off.  
   
“Because what? You didn’t actually believe he would hurt me in that bar where my friends work and half the clientele would happily glass him if I asked them to?”  
   
“No, I—”  
   
“For fuck's sake, I could’ve beaten the crap out of him myself if I’d wanted to.”  
   
“I don’t doubt that.”  
   
“Then why?”  
   
 _Because I wanted to fight him for you. Because if I couldn’t fight him for you, I wanted to take you away and fuck you_. Ben cringes at the intrusive thoughts. He squashes them down and looks at the ground, ashamed of himself. He is a physician, god dammit, not a fucking cave man.  
   
“I don’t know, Rey. Because I’m an idiot. Maybe because you were laughing—for _once_ you were laughing with me, rather than at me. And—I don’t know—I guess I thought maybe we had a moment that could’ve become more moments, and he fucked it up.” He punctuates the last three words by kicking a discarded can into the road.  
   
“Ben—”  
   
“Everyone laughs at me.” There it is.  
   
“I’m not laughing at you.” She isn’t. She’s taking a step towards him and reaching out to touch his face.  
   
Rey's hand is on his face. First her fingertips—so, _so_ softly—brushing against his jaw, and then—as Ben feels his breathing stutter in his chest—she moves with more certainty and cups his jaw in her palm, rubbing a soothing pattern on his cheek with her thumb.  
   
Ben hears himself groan. It’s embarrassing, but he can’t bring himself to give a shit as his eyelids droop closed and he leans into her touch.  
   
Her thumb brushes his mouth, and it is an involuntary reaction when he grabs her wrist again to hold her there.  
   
He doesn’t even realise he's kissing her hand until he hears her gasp.  
   
Shit.  
   
He drops her hand, instantly mortified. “Sorry.”  
   
But then he is hurtled backwards into the concrete wall of the tumbledown building next to his by the sheer force of _her_ , and her arms are around his neck and her lips are pressed against his own and they’re kissing. Rey is kissing him and Ben has no idea how they got to this point but he is kissing her back.  
   
It’s fuzzy, the memory of how they got from the street outside to the comforting familiarity of his bedroom. Their clothes litter the floor from the front door to the side of his bed.  
   
Again, the details of how that happened are a blur.  
   
All Ben knows is that right now, in this present moment, Rey is in his bed—naked—and her knees are hooked over his shoulders, and his face is full of her sweet cunt.  
   
She’s a talker, even in this moment.  
   
“I won’t see you anymore, after to— _fuck_ —that’s good.”  
   
He isn’t processing the words as he presses another digit inside her, curling his fingers upwards as he paints a pattern on her clit with his tongue.  
   
“I’ve been evicted—Jesus _fuck_ —” Her thighs clamp around his ears and Ben is about to come just from the feel of her clenching on his soaked fingers.  
   
“Let me fuck you,” he is begging as he draws himself back from her, only to crawl up her body again and kiss her on the mouth. “ _Please_ , Rey.”  
   
She wraps her legs around his waist and grabs his cock to guide him to her centre.  
   
It’s been years—fucking _years_ —since he’s done this. It has never been like this. Her soft, young, pliant body parts for him so easily.  
   
He isn’t going to last, but he wants to. He never wants it to end. He finishes inside her after three thrusts; her perfect little pussy still pulsing around him from her own orgasm is overwhelming and there is simply no way he can hold himself back.  
   
“Fuck. Thank you,” he pants as he falls bonelessly on the bed next to her. It’s a stupid thing to say.  
   
She curls into his side, peppering lazy kisses up his chest as he feels himself drifting into oblivion.  
   
“I’m being rehoused. I moved all my stuff out today; we probably won’t see each other anymore.”  
   
“You can live here,” he hears himself say. He doesn’t feel any kind of panic at her words. Of course they’ll see each other. He has a fucking car.  
   
She just chuckles quietly and rolls over. “Obviously not. I’m just a troublemaker anyway. You said so yourself. I’m going for a shower.”  
   
“Stay the night.”  
   
“Okay.”  
   
She does stay the night—at least until Ben falls asleep after fucking her twice more. She sucks his dick like it’s her life’s purpose and Ben is starting to think he will restate his offer for her to live here.  
   
But when he wakes up in the morning, she’s gone. There’s no note. She’s left him her used panties, and as much as Ben appreciates the gesture, he feels sick.  
   
Is that it? The girl he hasn’t been able to get out of his head for the past month, just gone?  
   
It’s the story of his life.  
   
He flicks on the shower, begrudgingly. He doesn’t want to get her smell off himself yet, but he needs to get ready for work.  
   
Ben nearly misses the toilet bowl during his morning piss when he sees the bathroom mirror misting up before his eyes.  
   
Appearing from under the condensation is a phone number, unmistakably doodled with a delicate finger, and ending with a row of bulbous hearts.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this kind of silly fic! I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
